Bleeding Inside
by SPOTTY
Summary: *MORE ADDED!* Julie lost everything she ever loved.Her life is all she has now.When she meets a guy,Jack,who can relate to her story,they immediately connect,and Julie fights to open herself up again to the beauty and love...
1. The Blood.

Title: Bleeding Inside  
  
Author: Katie Louden  
  
Date started: May 27, 2002  
  
Rating: R for gore and language  
  
Summary: Julie lost everything she ever loved. Her life is all she has now. When she meets a guy, Jack, who can relate to her story, they immediately connect, and Julie fights to open herself up again to the beauty and love of the real world. But when she finally opens herself up, she is faced with an even greater challenge when she meets the man who killed her family.  
  
Chapter 1-The Blood  
  
I remember it all so clearly. The window. The gunshots. The blood. The figure casually walking into the room. The knife. The blood. The face. The things he took. The blood. The hate. All the blood.  
  
It was the 4th of July and we were all watching the fireworks from the window. The Brooklyn Bridge was always full of people, watching the man at the bottom of the bridge who set the fireworks off. I had glanced to the side of the house quickly, just to see a figure walk by, but thought nothing of it. People walked through our yard all the time.  
  
I smiled at my Mother, her pale, wrinkled face grinning madly.  
  
I fixed my gaze on my sister, her eyes glistening with every firework explosion.  
  
I popped my head back in the house, just for a second, to smell the red, white, and blue candles we had lit all over the house.  
  
Just for a second.  
  
As I brought my head slowly back out, I stopped to listen to the fireworks for a minute. When they stopped for just a moment I heard a different, louder bang right in front of me. I felt my Mother's and sisters' brains fall to pieces into my hands. I saw their blood explode all over the red, white, and blue candles, staining them, staining me, and staining my life. Forever.  
  
I fell to the floor from the impact of everything. I sat on the ground, stunned, and unsure of what had happened. They had popped like balloons and their insides had been exposed, falling to pieces all over the house.  
  
I didn't think it was possible to have so much blood.  
  
I touched my face, smearing the blood, stinging my eyes. The candles didn't smell good anymore. They smelled of flesh and blood, and the stench of death coated their flames.  
  
What should I do? Run? I hopped up, just in time to see a figure walk by the window. I dropped to the floor again, faking my own death, which I begged to be brought to me. I had nothing and I knew it right from there.  
  
But he saw me.  
  
I saw the smile on his face, all teeth, pearly-white teeth. His shoes were leaving more bloodstains on the crisp, white carpet. I closed my eyes tightly, choking on the tears that were forming inside me.  
  
I felt the knife slice my cheek like butter. I quickly opened my eyes, letting my salty tears fall down my cheek and mix with the thick blood rolling down my face, staining the carpet more. He wasn't smiling anymore. He stood up and stomped hard on my chest, forcing me to scream out in pain. The air inside of me was pumped out, but I didn't want to breath in the room. He glanced out the window where my family was splattered, and then he kicked my head. I felt my eyes roll back in my head. I felt the cold knife pierce my throat and then slice again, but through my forehead, just above my eyebrow.  
  
But I was still alive. I saw him. He took our possessions, even a few of the bloodstained, porcelain dolls that my sister collected. I saw him jump over the gory mess by the window, and run out of sight.  
  
I lay there on the floor. I couldn't move. Or maybe I didn't want to.  
  
I closed my eyes, remembering my family. They were gone.  
  
I closed my eyes, hoping that they would stay closed forever.  
  
I never wanted to open them and see what I had seen.  
  
But I was saved.  
  
Read on. 


	2. Trying.

Chapter 2-Trying.  
  
I glanced at my cut up face in the mirror. My reflection gave my stomach a real sickening churning. The scars were still there. I had no way of covering it all up. My eyes were blue, but looked gray all the time, which didn't look right with my thin, long, blonde hair. My hair could cover my ears and part of the scar on my neck, but nothing else. I wanted to get bangs, but people would still pull my hair out of the way, and show the scars off to their friends. "That scar was from… before he stood up Julie, or after?" "That scar was from a sick man… isn't it interesting looking?"  
  
Everyone knew what had happened. The whole city. The whole state. No one had heard the gunshots, only the fireworks. It had been a whole month now, and the crowd was starting to lose interest in me. Thank goodness. I wasn't their centerpiece anymore. I didn't think I could take their touching and talking and whispering and mumbling and laughing anymore. Yes, laughing. They laughed at how I acted, always sulking, never talking, allowing my lips to dry up and crack when I moved them. Wouldn't you act like me if your whole family were slaughtered right in front of you, their blood still staining your whole body, after 6 million baths each day?  
  
No one understood. And what's worse, they wouldn't even try to understand what I was going through. They just enjoyed using me as the topic of their lame discussions.  
  
I hadn't talked for a good 3 weeks. The first few weeks were spent in the police station. They had me glance from picture to picture, trying to get out whom had done it. Even though the man had stood before me, I hadn't seen him. All I saw were his glistening, beautiful teeth. I wanted to smear his teeth with my blood, dirty him.  
  
I was inside of my two-bedroom apartment most of the time. But I liked going out, letting the sky burn my skin and head. I enjoyed the clouds passing across the sky slowly. Plus, I had a job to keep going to. I was slowly catching up to my apartment payments.  
  
As I steadily walked away from the mirror, I grabbed my purse, containing a gun for protection inside of it, and headed out the door.  
  
I couldn't get a job anywhere because everyone thought I was a death magnet. Their naïve lives disgusted me. The only place where you didn't need any kind of resume to get into was the newspaper job. So I was a newsie. I was the only one who sold papers without screaming out the headlines. People just wanted to come close to me to see my scars, the pain in my eyes, and the story I had to tell without words.  
  
But today was a different day.  
  
A large, little, 11 or 12-year-old boy was following me around. "So what's it like ta be a freak? How does it feel to have blood sink trew ya clothes? What did ya Mudda' and sista' look like? I heard dat you had a dog too, and dat he was shot and they couldn't even tell dat he was a dog…"  
  
I was good at ignoring people. It was what I did each day. But this boy was definitely having some kind of influence on me, and I wanted to stop him.  
  
"Ay kid! What's ya problem anyway?!"  
  
I turned to face the boy. There was an older boy towering over him. He had light, brown hair that was slicked back. A cowboy hat was hanging around his neck and a bandana underneath it. His eyes were brown, filled with anger right now, but obviously very gentle looking. He obviously could never hurt even a fly, much less a kid.  
  
The boy crossed his arms, not letting down without a fight. "She don't mind. I'se jus' tryin' ta make her talk is all. My brudda' says she's mute and dat…"  
  
"Well, ya brudda's obviously a dick, so don't listen ta him." The older boy made a fist and that scared the little punk away. He dashed the street. "Sorry 'bout dat. Kids dese days." He shook his head. He cocked his head slightly and looked into my eyes. He probably thought I wasn't going to say anything, so he started walking away.  
  
I touched his arm slightly and he jumped around. "Tanks," I whispered. Those were my first words in so long. I had forgotten what my voice had sounded like.  
  
His mouth almost dropped, but he saved it. "Sure. Kids dese days," he repeated.  
  
I swallowed hard, opening my mouth slightly, bringing in as much air as possible at once. "Yeah," I murmured. My voice was scratchy, like a morning voice. It probably smelled like morning breath too. He took a step closer to me and I took a step back.  
  
He looked like he felt awful for making me take a step away from him. His eyes dimmed slightly and his mouth opened like he was going to say something. But he closed his mouth again. Then quickly said, "Maybe I'll see you around sometime…"  
  
"Sure." I turned slowly on my feet and walked back to my apartment, leaving my extra papers on a bench. Maybe getting to meet people wouldn't be so bad.  
  
Read on. 


	3. Enemies And Friends.

Chapter 3-Enemies and Friends.  
  
The next day, I woke up really early. I decided that I could get my papers, sell them to the early birds, and then head back to bed. But it seemed that my luck of people finally leaving me alone was running out.  
  
I figured that the newsboys who lived in the lodging house together wouldn't get up for another hour or so, but there they were, at the distribution center, waiting in line. So that's why they sell more papers than me. I recognized the boy, Jack, from yesterday who had basically saved me from killing the little kid who was bothering me. I didn't say anything to him, and I don't think he noticed me.  
  
"Ay, you!" I turned around slowly, not knowing who was directing their holler at me. It was a tall, 15 or 16-year-old boy. He looked like an exact copy of the boy from yesterday, and there was the little bastard, standing beside the older boy, a lollipop in his mouth.  
  
I nodded a greeting, or an acknowledgement really.  
  
"You'se was botherin' Josh yesta'day, wasn't you?"  
  
I squinted and half nodded. I was basically doing this to piss him off. People hated that I didn't talk.  
  
"Why don't you talk bitch?" he bellowed.  
  
I rolled my eyes and shrugged, standing tall. I cracked my knuckles and crossed my arms.  
  
The little boy, whom I assumed was Josh, tugged on his big brother's shirt. "Nick! She was der, but der was somebody else too," he stated.  
  
"Who was it?" the older boy, Nick, inquired.  
  
I cracked a smile, my first smile in quite a while too. It was kind of funny watching these two.  
  
Nick saw my change. "What is you'se smilin' at?"  
  
I felt my stomach get tight. I wanted to laugh. But I couldn't let myself fall apart that easily.  
  
Nick came up close to me and raised his arm like he would slap me. His eyes looked to the left and right and he stopped. I glanced around, seeing that all of the newsies at the center were slowly starting to surround me. Nicky cleared his throat, "We can, uh, figure dis out lata' bitch." He slowly backed out of the distribution center, pulling Josh along with him.  
  
Although I had a feeling that the boys were all questioning why they had helped me, I knew who had told them to, and I was grateful.  
  
I walked around New York, ignoring whatever was in my view. I totally screwed my papers, not wanting to sell anymore. I did some thinking instead. I wondered mostly why that boy had helped me.  
  
It's not like I was some normal girl who jabbered on and on about her life and the people she was surrounded with. I wasn't pretty either. Hell, I'll admit, I had the body: nice at the top, slim down a ways, nice thighs, and I had great-shaped legs, all which was what attracted people to me. But my skin was dry and flaky. My hair was combed down, but was dirty and probably lice-infested. If I was to care more about my body, I might actually be more attractive, and people might even like staring at me.  
  
I remember looking at myself in the mirror before everything happened. My eyes would twinkle when I smiled, but only when I smiled, and I hadn't done that in a while. Although, today counted, but it pissed me off that I had smiled at that dick and his little shit head brother. I wanted to be dead.  
  
Just as I was about to think of death, I felt it. There were eyes on me. People always stared, but I knew their eyes. These eyes were really looking at me, trying to find my secrets and question my past. I flung around, aiming to catch a glimpse of the stalker. I should have known. "Ay," I whispering, scowling at myself for talking again to the boy I didn't know and didn't really care to know, at least I don't think.  
  
"Julie right?" he asked.  
  
I looked away, towards the street, and nodded. Everyone knew my story.  
  
"I'm Jack," he told me.  
  
I faced him again, taking in a quick glimpse of his face. He had pretty eyes, a nice nose, and tasty-looking lips---a perfect face. I felt gross compared to this magnificent Jack.  
  
I looked down at the ground, something I did a lot. Suddenly, I wanted to slap this guy. He was greater than me. "So what?" I spat back.  
  
From the tip-top corner of my eye I saw his expression. He just nodded and kind of rocked back and forth for a second. "I'se wanted ta talk to you'se fa a long time," he kind of whispered.  
  
I lifted my head again, giving him my most evil look. "What da fuck are you'se talkin' 'bout?" I growled.  
  
"Nuttin'," he said quickly, "neva'mind." He almost got away from me, but I grabbed his arm and held it tightly. I felt good, being in power now. I squeezed his arm harder and he winced slightly. "Uh…"  
  
"Shuddup," I mumbled. "Now, why do people do dis ta me? Why do people say dey gotta say sumpin' and den don't? I mean, now, people always jus' say shit ta me, and I don't say nuttin'. But before any'a dis, when no one knew me, dey's was afraid ta tell me shit. Dey's was afraid'a me. Are you'se tryin' ta bring me past back?" I couldn't really understand myself, but I think I was feeling better. He was about to talk, but I cut him off, quickly adding, "Huh? Answer me dat."  
  
He swallowed hard and looked down at his arm.  
  
I glanced down at it. My fingernails were longer than I thought, and obviously very sharp. I let him go, leaving 5 holes deeply into his arm. They were turning red.  
  
He cleared his throat and rolled his shirtsleeves down. "Well," he began, "I was like you too."  
  
"Like what? Did you even hear a word I just said?"  
  
"I mean, dat's what I was gonna tell you'se. I went trew what you went trew," he replied, his eyes showing me more pain than I had seen in a while.  
  
I realized what he was talking about. "Your family?"  
  
"My Mudda'," he replied. "Me Pops is in jail."  
  
I swallowed hard.  
  
He went on, "I don't got no brudda's or sista's, but… You can unda'stand I'se sure."  
  
I nodded and motioned for him to go on.  
  
He did. "Me Mudda' and I'se was walkin' around Harlem." He chuckled, "I guess dat ain't always da best place ta be walkin' around, huh?" Rhetorical question obviously. "I'se walked away fa jus' a second and… I dunno. I'se jus' heard da shots. Didn't know who it was either."  
  
"How old was you?" I inquired, trying to defrost my cold heart.  
  
"7. I'se don't cry so much anymore. I'se got all da guys ta help me, but I'se neva' told dem what happened."  
  
This boy whom I had just met was telling me about his life. He hadn't even told his followers, his friends, anyone. He was telling someone who had just snapped at him and loved the power of pain. I did the only thing I could think of at the time; I hugged him. And he hugged me back. It was as if he knew I was going to hug him too. "I'se sorry," I said sincerely. I wiped my eyes, realizing that tears had formed. It was odd to me why I was breaking down now, in front of Jack.  
  
When I pulled away he was crying too. "So," he sniffled, "where now?"  
  
"We's sell papes," I informed him.  
  
He cracked a stupid smile and held his arm out. I took it and he added, "Like good newsies do."  
  
Read on to my note. 


	4. AUTHOR'S NOTE.

WAIT! GO BACK TO CHAPTER 3!!! I ADDED MORE TO IT!!! GO BAAAAACCCCKKKK!!!!! *Grins* Shank you! I'll write Chapter 4 ASAP! 


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